An expensive painting.

For Mother's Day I got a painting. It was an original. It had custom framing. It was expensive in many contexts. It cost years of tests, shots, co-pays, pregnancy tests, adoption fees, postage on paperwork, airline tickets, country fees, and international ATM fees. It cost tough conversations, tears, long runs to clear my head, eight months of my "real life", strong hugs, several hard Mother's Days, thousands of prayers, and rolls upon rolls of cookie dough. If I gave you a real dollar amount we might all throw up. However, this painting is worth it. It's that good. I would pay that "price" all over again.

It was made by two little hands. Two perfect hands. Two brown hands.

The same two hands that offered me part of his waffle on Sunday morning when Russ told him that it was Mother's Day. The same brown hands that rise in the air when he hears his new favorite song because he wants to "dance" with me. The same little hands that search through my hair to find which earrings I'm wearing each day. And the same hands that have to sign "more" because he's giggling too much to talk. The same sweet hands that blew me a kiss after I said good night to him while he was already tucked into bed tonight.

I'm in love. I'm in love with Eliot, I'm in love with being his mom, I'm in love with the Lord for creating him and "us", and I'm in love with this painting.